


Is Your Conscience Alright?

by TheSchubita



Series: Death On Two Legs [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1984, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Crying, Deaky's POV, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John has a few things to say, John is full of surprises, John's POV in this part, M/M, POV Change, Super angsty, Supernatural Elements, slight crossover i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: John has something to say about the state of things - and a surprise of his own.





	Is Your Conscience Alright?

**Author's Note:**

> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> First off, I'd like to thank @riceinthechurch on tumblr, who has been a MAJOR help in this, and has read every part dutifully, and helped name the series, as well as most parts. Please go read their fic "Pain Is So Close To Pleasure" - they're aliquis on AO3.
> 
> This was a tiny hc I originally posted on @bohemian-rhapsody-slash (KyluxFicHell on here, seriously, check out their fics too) on tumblr anonymously, and it grew legs and, well, here we are.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).
> 
> .
> 
> SO SORRY FOT THE ANGST LAST CHAPTER; I'm afraid we're still in angstville as of now. I'll provide tissues and a shoulder to cry on, no worries ;).

Roger is being childish. John huffs at the locked door he’s been standing in front of for the past five minutes. Roger is at home – he knows, because he can see Roger’s blonde hair peeking through the blinds from the living room where he’s obviously watching him. John’s tempted to throw a rock at a window, but that might be overdoing it just a bit. Generally, John is a rational person, but he’s worried out of his damn mind. Since Freddie had departed (fled, really) to Munich with that rat Paul, he’s been having a very bad feeling about all of it – and his mother had implored him to never ignore those. And when his PA had called the feeling had intensified thousandfold.

 

So that’s why he’s in front of Roger’s locked door, jiggling the front lock open with some spare wire he usually carries with him. He finally manages to open the door, and takes a step into Roger’s home.

 

He shivers. Somehow, it feels cold – not in the literal sense, but rather, as if there was a lingering darkness hiding in a corner. It makes John frown; normally, wherever Roger is currently living or staying at, the place feels warm and inviting and _lively_.

 

It feels like he stepped into a mausoleum.

 

“This is a home invasion,” Roger’s voice says suddenly from his left. “I should call the pigs.” John turns around with a biting retort on his tongue, but when he takes a look at Roger, he feels it die in his throat.

 

Roger looks horrible.

 

John looks at his sunken cheeks, his hollow eyes, sunshine-hair flat and colorless. His eyes fall to Roger’s middle, and instead of a soft tummy they all adore (have since it appeared sometime in the 70’s), he looks thin, frail, and ashen. He drinks in the sight of Roger, his oldest, his best friend, one of the three people that are so interwoven with his soul they’re one entity in separate bodies. He should know him like the back of his hand. Instead, he’s looking at something frightful and alien.

 

“Roger –“ John starts, but he doesn’t know how to continue. Roger’s lips twitch into a grimace, and only after a beat John realizes it’s supposed to be a _smile_.

 

“You’re one stubborn motherfucker, you know that?” Roger says, and fuck, even his voice is gravelly and subdued. He takes a couple of steps toward Roger, and to his astonishment and anguish, Roger slinks back from him.

 

Never, in all of the years he’s known him, had Roger ever flinched away from him – from physical touch. Yeah, sometimes he had been closed off emotionally (as were they all on occasion), but Roger was the most tactile person John has ever met, and he’s met some _very_ clingy fans.

 

“Roger,” he says again, and reaches out to touch him. Roger looks at his hand as if he’s never seen it before, and something about it makes John’s heart break just a little. Originally, he’d assumed Roger had just been in a shitty mood – as he always is in May, and he knows it’s because Brian almost died all those year ago, even if neither Freddie nor Brian seemed to ever have realized. John knows the best course of action is to leave him be for a few days. But then Roger’s mum had called, and then his PA had called, and John had felt furious – Roger has this nasty habit to try and deal with shit on his own when he doesn’t have to. So John had just waited for the call – hell-bent to give him a good kick in his arse.

 

His resolution crumbles in seconds.

 

John knows he’s cornering Roger as he steps closer, but the erratic behavior of his and him frankly looking like death warmed over is increasingly worrisome and there was something – off. He can’t help but feel a sense of growing dread. He shuffles closer still, until there’s barely any room left between them. Close up, he looks even worse – John can tell he’s been sick by the sickly pallor of his skin and the red-rimmed eyes. He gently herds him towards the couch, mindful of the broken glass on the floor. He settles next to Roger, facing him.

 

"Rog," he says softly. "You’re scaring me – what’s going on?" He reaches out to touch Roger’s shaking hands. "You can tell me anything –" Roger is already shaking his head, painfully fake smile plastered on his face. 

 

“I must look like –” Roger chuckles. “Look like hell, huh?” John’s grip tightens on his hands – cold hands that were usually warm.

 

“I have no patience whatsoever for your bullshit excuses,” John says firmly. He tries to keep his voice gentle and encouraging, but something of his distress must still show.

 

"It doesn’t matter – it won’t change shit, Deaky, please, just –" the pit of worry that had been a constant explodes into a full black hole.

 

"Roger – God, you – you sound like – are you – You aren’t dying, or something?" He asks, missing the teasing tone he tries for by a mile, trying to lighten the mood, but Roger chokes up a laugh that is more a sob. John’s heart stops.

 

"In a manner of speaking," Roger laughs, tone completely void of humor. It sends chills down John’s spine.

 

"Oh God – what – _how_?" John can’t hear anything besides the thundering if his heart. 

 

"It’s – it’s gonna be okay, though," Roger says gently patting John’s hand, blinking back tears. "It’s gonna be over soon," he sighs, looking out the window. John feels his own eyes well with tears. That sounded like –

 

"It’s – is it that bad then?" He whispers, and Roger shrugs, still not looking at him, before he nods.

 

“I don’t have long," he says. "I’m so sorry, John." 

 

"No, what are you sorry for – God ," John says, wiping at his eyes. "It’s not as if it’s of your own making, whatever it is –" he stops. Roger looks shifty now and worries his bottom lip.  "Rog?" He asks. Roger shakes his head, still not looking him in the eyes. "How long – what’s going on?"

 

"I –" Roger begins. "I miscalculated something and now I – I have to pay the price." And then his brittle wall of bravery crumbles completely and he begins to cry, ugly sobs wracking his frame, and John is so shocked he sits frozen; he has never seen Roger like this. "I – I’m never going to see Fred again –" he buries his face in his hands. John shakes his head disbelievingly.

 

"What –? Rog, of course you’ll see him again – I’ll call him up right now, and even if you only have –“ he pauses, swallowing thickly. This isn’t what he expected when he got here. He feels displaced, and can only begin to imagine how Roger must feel, how long he must have carried this with him. “Even if you only have weeks left, you’ll have plenty of time to reconcile with Freddie –" Roger is already shaking his head.

 

"No, Deaky," Roger interrupts quietly. "I have only three days left." 

 

It’s a punch to his gut. He gets up, vision tunneling as he grabs Roger by his shoulders and sees those blue eyes blink up at him through unshed tears, lacking any of the fire he had last time he saw him.

 

"What –" he begins but then he stops. There’s something tingling at the back of his head, and he takes a moment to step back from his torrent of emotions, and thinks.

 

And then something clicks.

 

Roger looks at him with anticipation, and as the seconds pass without John saying anything, with growing confusion.

 

"Roger," John says, voice cool and firm, but his shaking hands belie the rage he’s starting to feel. He prays he’s wrong. _Anything but that._ "Did you make a deal with a crossroads demon?"

 

Roger’s eyes grow as wide as saucers, stunned. It’s not from incredulity, but rather, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It’s all the confirmation John needs. He feels the floor opening up and swallowing him whole.

 

"You dumb _fucker,"_ He hisses viciously. Roger reels back, but John grips him tighter. He know he’ll be leaving bruises, but for the life of him, he can’t find it in himself to care.

 

“Deaks – _John_ , how do you –“ John glares at him. Then Roger suddenly looks absolutely panicked and he takes John’s face in both of his hands. John blinks. “John, you didn’t –?” And then John growls.

 

“Of fucking course I fucking didn’t!” The sheer audacity – “Unlike _some_ , I have fucking common sense!”

 

“But then how do you know about –?” Roger looks more confused by the second. John sighs, and lets one shoulder go in favor to rub at his temple. Roger’s hands fall away from his face, and John finds he misses the touch.

 

“It’s a long story,” he sighs. “Let’s just say I have some connections and leave it at that.” For the first time since he laid eyes upon Roger that day, he sees something of a spark return to his eyes – curiosity. John would be glad for it, but he still feels so unbearably angry. “How could you have doubted us – doubted _Queen_?” Roger starts, looking at him incredulously and offended. “We were good enough then – we would’ve made it without you making a deal to sell your soul!” John can’t believe he actually has to deal with something like that – he’d firmly turned his back on all this bullshit at the tender age of eleven.

 

“ _Fuck_ _you_ , John,” Roger says, and his voice is cold. He gets up and turns away from him, fingers agitatedly tapping out a beat. John waits. “Do you really think I’d sell my soul for something as – shallow – as fame?”

 

“I don’t know Roger – I honestly don’t know what to think,” John says, Roger whirls around with a thunderous expression. John prefers it to the emptiness from before. “I mean, barely a year late we recorded ANATO, so who knows –“

 

“ _That_ was only thanks to our combined genius,” Roger seethes. “I can’t believe you’d think me so randy for a bit of fame I’d fuck up my entire life!”

 

The thing is, John believes him. “Then why?” He asks Roger softly. “What was worth your soul?” Roger deflates, turning away again.

 

“What does it matter?” Roger says instead. “It’s done, and I can’t regret it.” John clenches his hands.

 

“You owe me – owe us that much,” he says, dangerously quiet. “We deserve to know why we’re about to lose you.” It takes a long time for Roger to gather himself enough to answer.

 

“Do you – do you remember what almost happened ten years ago?” Roger asks him haltingly. John frowns for a moment, but then his own thoughts from earlier catch up to him.

 

“ _Brian_? But, he was fine –“ Roger shakes his head.

 

“He was fine because of me – because of the deal,” Roger says. John takes a moment to look at Roger, really look at him. He knows Roger is absolutely devoted to them, and it keeps John up sometimes at night, but –

 

“No, Roger, Brian was going to be _fine_ ,” he says firmly. Roger opens his mouth. “No, hold on.” He gathers himself. “I knew he was going to be fine because – well, remember those connections?” Roger frowns at him, but nods. “If there had been any doubt Brian wouldn’t turn out to be absolutely fine, _believe me_ , I would’ve done something about it.”

 

“No, that – that doesn’t make any sense,” Roger says, shaking his head. “I saw Bri – he was –“ Roger interrupted himself, looking lost. “Paul said –“

 

That gets John’s attention. “Hang on,” he says, getting up as well. “What about _Paul_?”

 

Roger looks shifty. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says weakly.

 

“ _Roger Meddows Taylor_ ,” John seethes. “You will tell me right the fuck now what Paul fucking Prenter has to do with this fucking shitshow or so fucking help me.”

 

“Uh,” Roger says, blindsided. “That’s a lot of fucks in one sentence, Deaky –“ John growls. “Right, right,” he raises his hands in a calming gesture. “Well, he offered the deal?”

 

 _Say fucking what._ John turns and kicks the glass table so hard it upturns and shatters. Huh, no wonder Roger was always throwing shit. That felt _immensely_ satisfying. Roger takes a step back, eyes wide at the show of violence.

 

“Let me get this straight,” John begins through gritted teeth. “You made a deal – Brian’s life for your soul – with _Paul_. Who is apparently a demon.” He mutters the last part. “That _can’t_ be right.” He looks at Roger.

 

“I know it sounds crazy –“ Roger begins to say, but John shakes his head.

 

“How the fuck is Paul a demon?” John wonders to himself. He should have seen it – How could he not have seen it? The corner of Roger’s mouth curls up in a tiny sardonic smile.

 

“Well, you have to admit he’s always been awful,” he says. While very true, that isn’t what’s bothering John.

 

“No, I mean, he is, but I don’t understand how I could’ve missed it. I should have been able to tell.” But as he says it, he begins to doubt if he really would’ve. It has been a long time since he – he shakes the thought off. “So of course you sold your soul to him for Brian and now ten years later he’s about to cash in.” He worries the nail of his thumb with his teeth, thinking. Crossroads deals were tight, and usually didn’t allow any leeway –

 

Roger looks shifty again.

 

“ _What_?” he asks him. Roger hesitates, but then deflates.

 

“It was actually twenty years, originally.” John raises his eyebrow. “I know, it’s apparently not done, he told me himself – not that it matters now.”

 

“I don’t get it,” John says. “How can you still have ten years left and yet say you’re dying in three days?” It doesn’t add up. Roger looks away, and John sees the heartbreak in his eyes. “Something happened,” he realized. Something that changed the deal. Roger nods, shutting his eyes tightly.

 

“I called Fred – or I tried to,” Roger says, surprising John. He had figured the first one to bite the bullet and call Freddie would be either him or Brian. “And I got Paul instead.” John winces – he knows From Miami that Paul had been fielding the calls, but that couldn’t have been pleasant. “And –“ Roger stops, and takes a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself. “And he told me – he told me Fred was sick, with – with _It_.” John frowns.

 

“Sick with what?” Roger looks at him pointedly, but John doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

 

“John,” Roger says quietly. “Freddie has _AIDS_.” There’s a beat of silence.

 

“W- what? _No_ ,” he stammers. It – he doesn’t want to believe it, refuses to believe it, but Roger looks so solemn. And then his anger, his _fear_ , returns in full power. “ _And you made_ another _deal? Are you fucking serious_?” He bellows. This time however, Roger doesn’t flinch, instead, he looks at him with determination.

 

“Yes,” Roger says, surprisingly calm. “And I don’t regret it.” John grips his arms harshly, shaking him.

 

“You fucking – what about us, huh? What do you think would happen to us if you just fucking died out of the blue?” He screeches. “It would fucking break us – it _is_ going to break us!” There are hot, angry tears welling up in his eyes. He blinks them away. “How do you think Brian is going to feel when he learns what you did for him? And Freddie, too? What do you think they’ll _feel_? Gratitude? _Fuck you_ , that’s going to eat them alive –“

 

“You’re not going to tell them,” Roger says. John blinks.

 

“What?”

 

“You _can’t_ tell them. They were never supposed to know. I didn’t do it for – for recognition.” Roger sounds oddly calm. Looks serene, even. It’s a look John can’t compute with the situation at hand.

 

The fucker has already given up.

 

John has a lot of things he wants to say to Roger. Mean things, soft things, everything in between. Instead, what he asks, is; “Then why _did_ you do it?” Roger slowly looks up at him. His eyes are clear.

 

“Because I love you – all of you,” he says softly, but the tone leaves no doubt for how he means it.

 

A sob escapes John.

 

His hands fall from Roger’s arms, and he turns around. His knees suddenly refuse to cooperate with him, and he sinks down on the couch. He lets his head fall into his hands, and his shoulders shake with dry sobs. He feels Roger cautiously sit down next to him, feels an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into Roger’s chest.

 

“You’re going to be fine, Deaky,” Roger says, and John can barely take it. Roger is the one who is going to suffer for eternity, and here he is, comforting John when it should be the other way around. He clings to him, all but crawling onto his lap; he feels terribly young and helpless, all of a sudden. Roger just hums and holds him loosely.

 

John doesn’t – can’t believe Roger – fierce, kind, _sun_ - _bright_ Roger, will have to suffer a fate that is usually reserved for the ugliest, greediest, darkest of souls. He can’t exactly fault Roger for doing what he did – he understands. After all, he knows he loves them just as absolutely as Roger just admitted does – and wasn’t that a waste of time, this endless dance around each other, when at least one other apart from John felt the same?

 

And now Roger is going into Darkness for something that shouldn’t have happened –

 

_Wait a minute._

 

He jerks up, and startled by the sudden movement, Roger falls back. John tugs at his hair in deep thought. Something is not adding up.

 

“I think,” John says. “I think I need to make a call.” Roger blinks at him.

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t think you – what you did was necessary,” John says slowly. “I think – I think you were ripped off.” Roger looks at him incredulously.

 

“What? No, c’mon –“

 

“I’m serious. I don’t think – no, I’m _sure_ Brian wasn’t about to die, which means –“ John shoots up suddenly, all but running towards the door.

 

“Hey! Where are you going?” Roger yells after him.

 

“To your neighbor, since you were being a prick and destroyed your phone,” he calls back. Roger makes to get up and follow him, and John whirls around, pointing at him. “You stay right the fuck here, I mean it. Also – where do you keep your salt?”

 

.

 

Roger had been absolutely bewildered when John had started to pour salt along the windows and doors, but had ultimately just let him without saying anything – not that John would’ve cared. He wasn’t going to take chances and leave Roger alone without at least the most rudimentary form of protection – one of the few he remembers. He charms his way into the neighbor’s house, spins a story about the broken phone, and something about a bit of an urgent family matter. He’s left alone by the nice elderly lady with the phone and also tea and cookies.

 

He calls his PA to book him a flight to Munich as soon as possible.

 

Then he calls Brian.

 

.

 

"Bri? Yeah, you need to come to Roger’s house _now_ – Well, just fucking tell Chrissie _something_ , I don’t care - No, he’s – he’s pretty far from okay, but I’m working on it. Just – come over please."

 

He’s glad that Brian never needs much prompting when it came to their well-being.

 

.

 

Then, he makes another call.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of an ongoing series that's already written and finished and already on a posting schedule - always updates on Thursdays!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought - Comments are love ♥
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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